Wish me luck.

I'm doing this this weekend.
This is my leg.

I am quite entirely serious when I say that this may very well kill me. If the getting up at 5 a.m. part doesn't take care of it first, the 1,000 foot clim up the face of a snow-covered mountain in unwieldy ski boots most certainly will end my existence on this planet. But, always the optimist, I've compiled a list of pros and cons.

Upside 1. If I just have a minor stroke but still make it to the top of the mountain, the odds are good that a hunky ski patrol guy will have to ski me down to the bottom on one of those stretchers, giving me plenty time to look at his ass

The downside: Stroke=drool. Drool does not=sex appeal times one million. Also, stroke=paralysis. Paralysis does not=responsive to advances, even if I do manage to not drool.

Upside 2. If I drink enough the night before, I may well be able to do the whole race while still blacked out (though it's been probably 4 years since I've gotten that intoxicated, so the odds are probably better that I win the race or the lottery, but...), thus erasing all the horrific pain from my memory

The downside: nausea. No one likes a crying puker calling for her mommy on a snowy mountain at an athletic event. Major morale-buster.

Upside 3. I will possibly be the best looking woman there for two reasons: first, this thing is mostly done by men. Second, this thing is mostly done by hippies. Hell-lloo, self-esteem booster!!

Me, panting and entering cardiac arrest but still attempting to muster a come-hither for the tall drink of water passing me: "Heee--gasp--eeey!"

Tall drink of water, head down, fixated on conquering the mountain like a real competitor: "Mmmph".

Me: "I shave!"

TDOW, perking up a bit, still focused on winning the God-forsaken race: "Mmm?"

Me, in one breath: "I don't even know what patchouli IS!! And I've never taken a feminism class! And I don't think strip clubs are offensive!!"

TDOW, giving up on the race and lurching at me: "Bushes!! NOW!"

Downside: I'm pretty sure most of the men there will be hippies. Which means a few bad things, including but not limited to extreme sensitivity, a fatal attraction to their guitars and the sound of their own voices singing bad Dave Matthews cover songs (OR, worse, sappy fucking songs they WROTE... oh my God, if that isn't a dealbreaker...), smelliness, an irritating fixation on politics, cutting plastic six-pack rings, and washing and re-using ziploc baggies, and terrible superiority complexes. None of these are good things.


I'll let you know how it goes.